


Breathing Control

by OrsFri



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Scientific Magic Realism...?, Christmas fic, Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8959873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrsFri/pseuds/OrsFri
Summary: Ivan doesn't know what Gilbert does, or why he seems to appear out of thin air and time seems to warp to suit him, but it doesn't matter in the end, does it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not in the country, ao3 on mobile is frustrating, and travel fatigue hits me with a punch in the gut, but. But, I am staring at a white Christmas right now and feeling very happy.
> 
> They did always say Christmas is a magical time.

"I fucked up," says Gilbert, standing in the doorway, soaked with rainwater and dripping all over the doormat.

Ivan raises an eyebrow and pushes the door further open. Gilbert takes a further step in before closing the door behind himself. He starts to strip as Ivan slouches into the bedroom for a towel.

When he returns, Gilbert is shivering in his underwear, his clothes piled heavily on the drenched doormat. Ivan tosses Gilbert a towel and wraps the other on Gilbert's head, scrubbing his hair dry while Gilbert dries the rest of his body.

When all is done, Ivan pulls Gilbert with him into his bedroom and lets Gilbert tuck the comforter around him like a burrito, trembling as he buries his face into the pillow.

Ivan makes a cup of hot tea in the kitchen, because he is always better at making tea than coffee, and leaves it in a thermos beside the bed. Then he closes the door gently, and reads on the couch in the living room.

-

The thing about Gilbert is that, Ivan never knows what he does. It leaves Gilbert broken and bleeding sometimes, both metaphorically and literally, but he always bounces back, and he always comes back _to_ Ivan, so Ivan never really presses the issue. It's not his place, and he trusts Gilbert. He trusts that Gilbert will tell if he needs to, when the time is right. That's not something Ivan can say about anyone else in his life.

-

Ivan falls asleep on the couch, and when he wakes, Gilbert is already gone.

The bed is made and feels cold under his palm, but the thermos is empty. Ivan smiles to himself as he brings it to the kitchen. He washes it in the sink, and it takes several seconds before he realises that the tap's filter has been fixed. Ivan blinks, and closes the tap.

"How long have I been asleep," he wonders aloud. As usual, no one answers him. Ivan rests the thermos to dry on a cloth and removes the newly-dried towels from the rack.

He receives his answer in the form of a text from Gilbert some time right after lunch.

_Thx =D It was the middle of the night, and I didn't want to wake you._

There's a picture attached, a bird-eye view of a Christmas Tree in Dresden. It is taken directly above the star, with tiny blurs of people taking pictures seen around the green of the tree. Ivan raises an eyebrow, and does not ask Gilbert how he has managed to take the photo.

_I feel like cooking tonight. Are you coming over for dinner?_

Gilbert doesn't reply. Ivan takes it as a yes, like all other times before, and leaves a plate out on the table before going to sleep.

When he wakes the plate is empty. On it, scribbled with the remains of the sauce, it reads: _Yum,_ with a heart shape traced next to it.

His heart aches, and Ivan misses.

-

Ivan first meets Gilbert when the latter falls through his ceiling and onto his bed, directly on top of Ivan.

It is a split moment, when all the air just leaves Ivan's lungs and he is stunned for a second, when it feels like his insides are all expelled and something is stuck in his throat, the horrifying moment of thinking _I can't breathe_ , before Gilbert rolls off and his ribs start working again.

"Wha," Ivan manages, before Gilbert panics and punches him across the face.

Instinct somehow kicks in, and Ivan hits back, harder and aiming for the guts, which therefore results in him throwing Gilbert back across the room and against the radiator.

"Oof," characterises Gilbert's first sentence to Ivan, if you ignore all the cussing.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my room?" Ivan demands, pushing himself off the bed and desperately struggling to _not_ wince at how his bruised ribs are affecting his movements _and_ breathing.

Gilbert has coiled into himself. "Look, I'm _sorry_ , alright, I miscalculated and landed at the wrong place."

If Ivan is thinking clearly, he would have demanded an explanation for the bullshit all these sound like. Instead, he says, "Get out," and Gilbert replies with a murmur of, "Fine, fine," before disappearing right infront of him.

Then, two days later, Gilbert saves Ivan from collapsing onto oncoming traffic after Ivan falls asleep in public (again), and that, Ivan supposes, is when everything begins.

-

"Vanya!" Gilbert yells from - from somewhere in the apartment, and Ivan has to remind himself that no, he did not forgot to lock the door, before Gilbert wanders into the study. "Guess who bought us some _goulash_?"

If there is one thing they shared, it is their love for Eastern European cuisine. "You didn't."

"I fucking did, now drop whatever and join me."

Both of them never did particularly like spicy food, and it shows in how the smell of their _goulash_ lacks _any_ capability to make their eyes water.

"How did you even get this? This is great," Ivan marvels, cheeks flushed from the heat. "Did Liz finally cave and make Hungarian cuisine?"

"Huh?" Gilbert's eyes dart to the corner of the very plain, very white, IKEA table. "Yeah, yeah she did."

"I thought she was in Vienna these few months? For some personal matters, or something."

Gilbert has that pained look on his face, the type when he knows he's caught but is still valiantly trying to come up with an excuse; the one that also makes him look like he's cringing and suffering a stroke at the same time. "She... came back for a quick visit?"

Ivan doesn't bother to stop eating. "Oh really?" Gilbert smiles guilelessly. "Stop trying: it is painful to watch. Is it another one of those things you can't tell me about?"

Gilbert shrugs.

"I thought so." Ivan finishes the last spoon of the _goulash_ , and it is only his dignity that prevents him from licking the bowl. "As long as the good food keeps coming, I don't really care how it comes about."

Gilbert gasps, clutching at his chest. "Oh Vanya, a man after my own heart," he swoons theatrically, and mock-wipes a tear from his right eye. "My life is complete now: marry me, my handsome darling."

Ivan snickers, and very maturely kicks Gilbert under the table. 

\- 

When this - whatever _this_ is - first started out, Ivan did wonder a lot about just what Gilbert is.

Sometimes he lets his mind wander too far, and he thinks that Gilbert is a secret agent of some futuristic organisation, carrying out top-secret duties teleporting with state-of-the-art secret technology around the world.

("Too Bond-esque," Gilbert has replied, when Ivan raises it up. "I wish I get around as much as that guy, but alas, my life is not as... satisfying."

"Ew," says Ivan, thinking of STDs, "but how do you expect me to guess right when you don't tell me anything?"

"That's the thing: you're _not_ supposed to guess right.")

Other times, he hits the other end of ridiculous, and thinks that Gilbert has magical teleporting powers, and uses it to take all sorts of ridiculous pictures ("How... how many selfies do you have on your phone?") and get good food ("This is the most satisfying food coma I ever had."). Gilbert snickers at that, and tells him that it is a very _Gilbert_ thing to do, and whether he has telepathic abilities or not, Gilbert, ridiculous photography, and great food will always end up together: a holy trinity of life well-lived, a mental memoir by Gilbert for Gilbert, thank you very much.

And sometimes, sometimes Ivan wonders if he is just dreaming, and that Gilbert is not real. Or maybe it is just Gilbert's weird abrupt disappearances that are not real, and that Ivan is just making it up with his stupid, faulty, overly-imaginative fuck-up of a brain to fill in the gaps in his memories. This, he doesn't tell Gilbert, but somehow Gilbert knows, he thinks, and that is why sometimes Gilbert clenches Ivan's arm so tight it hurts, and whispers fervently that yes, yes he's here, _can you feel the pain? I'm here, aren't I?_

Ivan will reply that, but what if Ivan is hallucinating, he won't be able to tell, and Gilbert will cuss, and say, no, _no, Vanya, why do you never let yourself have good things?_ Then Gilbert leans in, leans deep and deep and _deeper_ to kiss him, and Ivan feels the heat build like a flower unfurling in his stomach, throwing his world into hypersensitivity: noises louder and vision clearer, and, and -

And everything melts away, until it is only him and Gilbert and the warm comfort of touch between them, and it doesn't matter if it is reality or not anymore.

-

Gilbert crushes into his life like how most car-wrecks happen: sudden, violent, and absolutely avoidable.

What Ivan can't avoid, is Gilbert's friends when they start coming over. An example: a pretty blond named Francis, all long-limbed and graceful steps, casually leaning (posing) like a model against Ivan's kitchen counter.

"This is a good brand," says Francis, holding up Ivan's bottle of wine from wherever it has been stashed. Ivan doesn't even remember buying the bottle. "Although I always thought Gilbert is more of a beer person."

"He is." Ivan feels obligated to be polite, as though it is some meet-the-parents session (contrary to popular belief, Ivan does have exes, and they do get quite serious, even if they never end up anywhere) and one wrong move will end with Ivan never seeing Gilbert again. "I kept some cans in the fridge for him."

"Oh? You're not a beer person?" Francis's eyes are sharp and needling. "I'm not either, but Gilbert loves the drink."

"He does have good taste," Ivan admits, "somehow he finds the best pubs around here, and I have been living here for eight years and yet never even heard of them."

Francis throws his head back and laughs. Heh-heh-heh, three careful, deep, perfect laughs, before he straightens up, still poised, still in absolute control. "Ah, classic Gilbert." It comes off sounding like an exasperated but fond sigh, and Ivan wonders if it is faked. Lids lowered and lashes fluttering: "He talked about you, you know?"

"Ah?"

"He likes you a lot." Francis crosses his legs, slender and sliding into the silky shape of interwoven grace. "He _always_ talks about you."

There is this universal feeling, this tiny sense of _oh fuck_ ; this forboding _doom_ when you realised your conversational partner has laid down a verbal trap, and you have no way of escaping it. "Ah. What does he say?"

"Oh, this and that." Francis waves flippantly. "Like how you aren't nosy and never asks questions you _shouldn't_ ask. Or that even though it earns him a tons of owed favours, it's certainly worth it to get a _certain_ mutual to keep tabs on you and ensure your wellbeing."

"What did you say?" Ivan's voice comes out too flat for his liking. He clears his throat. "He's keeping tabs on _me_?"

Francis arches both eyebrows artfully.

"Well," says Ivan, "I think we need to have _words_."

-

"If you can go anywhere in the world, or any time period, really, where would you go?" Gilbert asks, one day once upon a time, legs crossed and balanced precariously on the window edge.

It's not cold enough to snow yet, but it is cold enough that it _will_ snow by the next week; Ivan is somewhat resentful that Gilbert is letting the cold in. He pulls the blanket up to his chin. "I'm happy with what I have now. Why would I want to be anywhere else?"

"It's just a question," says Gilbert, and his breath smokes in the night air. "Hypothetical. Let's say it's reversible. Where will you go?"

Ivan lets the question sinks in. He ponders it for a while. "In the future, same place," he finally decides.

"Oh? Why?"

"I thought that maybe in the future, they will have a solution to my sleeping problem." Ivan rubs his toes. He always has poor blood circulation to his feet. "And same place because... I don't know where else to go."

Gilbert is silent for too long when he finally speaks again. "Geez, how unimaginative!" he exclaims with too much cheer for it to be genuine. "If I go anywhere, I'll bring you with me then, to show you all the other more interesting time periods and places you could have chosen."

"Maybe," says Ivan. Gilbert hops off the ledge and shuts the window.

-

"So, Gilbert," Ivan begins, "so a good friend of yours told me, you've been -" He sucks in a deep breath. "-spying on _me?!"_

Gilbert looks like a deer caught in headlights. He's been giving that look too much too often recently. Ivan does _not_ like that. "Look, it's not like that-"

"Then what? Give me a good reason why you're invading my damn _privacy-_ "

"I'm worried, alright!" Gilbert yells. "What if you pass out in public again? The first time was lucky. You can't be lucky all the time!"

"That doesn't justify you getting someone to _watch me_ without telling me!" Ivan retorts. "I've been doing well enough before I met you!"

"Just barely!" Gilbert is heaving. They both are, breathing heavily from each side of the room, and rage pulses through Ivan's head, because _fuck, he can't just_ \- "Look Vanya, if I can do something about it, then I am going to do it. I am not going to sit back and let it happen when I _know_. It's just - you understand, don't you?" Ivan clenches his jaw. "Once I know, I can't just _unknow_. I can't ignore it when I can do something to make it better."

"Infringing my trust is making it better." It sounds like a taunt, even to Ivan's ears.

Gilbert flinches. "I'm sorry."

"You better be," says Ivan, and turns around before freezing. Francis is watching from the kitchen, arms folded and face blank. "I thought you left?"

"The space that we occupy is relative when we consider it inter-dimensionally," Francis replies.

There is a pregnant pause. Ivan blinks. "What?"

"The fuck you're on, Francis," says Gilbert.

Francis shrugs. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, was an example of how _not_ to apologise."

"Yeah, and no one asked you for your opinions," Gilbert snaps, "leave me and my personal life alone."

"Too late." And Francis smirks, but the humour does not reach his eyes, and that is when Ivan starts to really _think_ about what Gilbert is.

-

"Does it matter?" Gilbert once asked, and Ivan supposes it doesn't, in the grand scheme of things.

-

"Are you going to be alright?" Ivan whispers, later that night. Gilbert hasn't left yet - will wonders ever cease - and after chasing Francis away, Gilbert informs that he's, at the very least, staying for the night.

"Are you?" Gilbert mumbles back, words slurred from sleep, because they both went to bed three hours ago, because Ivan should also be sleeping, because somehow Ivan just couldn't sleep when he should and ended up falling asleep on his feet all over the place when he _shouldn't._

"I think so," Ivan replies. Gilbert smiles drowsily, and reaches out to press tighter against Ivan. His face nuzzles against Ivan's chest, and it feels funny but warm, the movement of a face rubbing fondly against you. Gilbert traces a finger lightly down Ivan's arm, and the roughness of his calluses scratches ticklishly at the skin of Ivan's triceps.

"Then yeah, I'm fine too," Gilbert says. "Do you know? You give me some place to go back to." His eyes glitter from the stray rays of streetlights. "I never had that before."

Ivan rests his palm on the small of Gilbert's back, and in that moment, with their breaths ghosting each other's cheeks and their warmth shared between them, Gilbert has never felt so solid, so _present_ , to Ivan.

-

"I love you," says Gilbert one day, aloud and with wonder tainting every consonant and supplementing every vowel.

Ivan wonders if it matters in the grand scheme of things, whether who loves who or if Gilbert loves him. But then he thinks, _that_ answer doesn't matter anyway, not when he is so happy his cheeks hurt from smiling and his heart feels so fuzzy it's going to burst.

"I love you too," says Ivan, and Gilbert's grin is so bright it's like the sun, burning through his skin and letting him know that, yes, oh yes, this is real.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically Ivan has a sleep/reality problem (let's leave out the official term to avoid generalisation, shall we), and Gilbert is ~~a superhero~~ part of an organisation of people that can control space-time continuum.
> 
> Hope the attempted writing style isn't too confusing. I do not know where I am going with this fic. Inserts quote about the directionless nature of life. Welps. Anyway, Merry Christmas everyone.


End file.
